


colder than the ice in my boots

by pingouin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression?, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Poetry, Symbolism, Winter, dribble drabble, fall - Freeform, frost - Freeform, idk it seems kinda depressy, larry fluff, older!harry, v v small mention of Zayn and Niall, younger!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pingouin/pseuds/pingouin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just a thing i wrote in the course of a few hours. </p><p>not complete, but if you'd like me to finish and/or write other crap, let me knowwww.</p><p> </p><p>The boy he meets is not Fall.<br/>Fall has ginger, shaggy hair, tiny limbs, like the personification of cuddling. Fall's easy to love, easy to be around. Fall is easy.<br/>Fall, (he'd nickname him Leaf, pronounced Leif), would curl Louis up in his chest, hold him tightly, as if the world is a new toxin and he is the antibiotic.<br/>Fall is medicine.<br/>Fall is safety.<br/>The boy he meets is not Fall, he's Winter.<br/>Winter is cold, tall, easy to walk into. Winter can't have a cute nickname, (Win just isn't right), Winter is obnoxious, yet so soothingly calm Louis just wants to float with him to a new world.<br/>Winter calls himself Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	colder than the ice in my boots

Louis wants to get lost by himself on the tube.  
It's the newness of seeing new people. He grips onto the metal pole he's standing right in front of, holding him down, the new gravity. It holds him down, makes him stay upright and standing. Pink and white fingers wrapping around dirty metal are the only reminder that he's in the real world.  
He's lost in this humble bumble of what business men and women and children call everyday life, but he has an essence they don't- unfamiliarity. He's bathing in it, reeking of it. 

✡ 

It rained his first ride by himself.  
The pitter-patter of the drops echoing on the ceilings and the closing of umbrellas filled his ears. He's never been a huge fan of umbrellas, he's more one to want to soak up the rain, to want to take someone's hand, and twirl them around in the cold, shivery happiness.  
He's never heard of anywhere that rains as much as London, England, and he loves it nonetheless. Doncaster rained enough, but not enough as London, and as he's heard too many Americans put it, "It's too damn rainy in this godforsaken country!"  
London is like that, though, it's a city you can't imagine being sunny and happy and cheery, you just can't imagine it that way. He likes, rainy, cold, grey London, and all it has to offer. He likes to think about all the poems inspired by the great country of Britain. Louis likes poetry, Frost, especially. He wonders if Frost liked the rain. 

✡ 

It's been ages since Louis last thought about getting laid.  
He's tiring of endless shit from his best mate Zayn, about his three week dry spell, while his best friend sits a "pure, innocent virgin with the sexual mind of a 35 year old father at a strip club".  
He thinks the compliment is meant to be endearing.  
He wants to be taken, laid down to be swallowed by the stars and moon, wants his fingers to dig into the back of his giver, his taker, wants to scream out with a cry so loud it wakes up the sun, revelling in their victory.  
He'll have hit the jackpot. He'll feel that feeling he hears his girl mates giggling about, the euphoria, the love, love, love.  
He wants that to be him. 

✡ 

Leaves crunch underneath his Vans, the tiny boats that hold water flattening to the ground.  
He wants something to occupy his restless hands. A toy, a drink, something. His mouth tastes of stale fall air.  
Fall is a good season.  
Louis likes it because it's simple. It smells like sweaters and cold coffee. It feels chilly, leaves to jump in and sugar and tea and honey.  
He wants to date Fall.  
Fall would be a good boyfriend, he thinks. Forgiving and new and orange and warm in all the right places. The only problem is that Fall does what he wants. Fall doesn't care if you want the leaves to be red or orange or yellow, he'll turn the leaves when he wants to.  
And that's how Louis learned to fall in love with intangible things. 

✡

The boy he meets is not Fall.  
Fall has ginger, shaggy hair, tiny limbs, like the personification of cuddling. Fall's easy to love, easy to be around. Fall is easy.  
Fall, (he'd nickname him Leaf, pronounced Leif), would curl Louis up in his chest, hold him tightly, as if the world is a new toxin and he is the antibiotic.  
Fall is medicine.  
Fall is safety.  
The boy he meets is not Fall, he's Winter.  
Winter is cold, tall, easy to walk into. Winter can't have a cute nickname, (Win just isn't right), Winter is obnoxious, yet so soothingly calm Louis just wants to float with him to a new world.  
Winter calls himself Harry. 

✡

He wants to be a children's physical therapist. Wants to be there when the kid who broke his leg walks again, wants to be the kids' light.  
And he can.  
He's Winter.  
"You look like a bright young shit. How old are you?" Harry asks, voice thick like raspberry syrup seeping into Louis' ears.  
"16." Louis whispers.  
When he's nervous he whispers. It's always been a thing for him, he feels like he speaks quietly his voice will sink into the ground instead of going upwards to the sky. He feels like a whisper is ten times more powerful than screaming anyway, he doesn't know though.  
He feels like he values Winter's opinion more than he values his own.  
He just really love the season.  
"Was right, you are a bright young one. I'm 18, almost nineteen."  
"I just turned 16 in December."  
Winter smiles knowingly and hands him a tiny scrap of paper. 

✡

Louis realises something as he watches the leaves float all around him. Maybe he's Fall. He's tiny, little, he can cuddle. He has the shaggy hair and the blue eyes and the sweater personality. Louis is Fall. He can't fall in love with himself, can he? He doesn't think he can.  
He's always been more of a winter person anyway. 

✡

Winter chases after Fall, makes sure it gets its fun before it slides in on its own star. Fall is good for leaf-jumping and dancing and getting all chilly but in the way where the sky is orange and yellow and pink. Winter is its own. Winter is mugs of hot chocolate and the way you hold your head high and throw snow at your lover's nose and the way reindeers dance around like childhood does.  
Maybe Harry is chasing after Louis.  
He can't be, is Louis crazy?  
Winter is its own kind, he probably has a good girlfriend or boyfriend, probably Spring or Summer.  
Niall, Louis' best friend, is a lot like Summer.  
That's how Louis convinces himself Harry's deeply in love with Louis' best friend who he's 9000% sure Harry's never met in his whole entire life. 

✡

Here he is, and he's terrified. He's sitting next to Harry again, already getting chills.  
He has a theory about Winter.  
Winter is goddamn selfish.  
Winter likes to soak up all the heat in this tiny metal transport vehicle and then only let out cold air for everyone else.  
(Harry's just really cold, and Louis is maybe trying to lean against him a little bit. God, don't be so judgemental!)  
"Damn you, H. Damn you and your freezing cold body. I bet the kids scream and run away because your body is like ice for Christ's sake."  
He sees a tiny microemotion flicker onto Harry's face, probably one of utter amusement slash "Jesus Christ get this young child away from me" as Harry sighs way too dramatically and says,  
"You're right, L. I should probably invest in a portable heater that smells awful and carry it everywhere I go so sixteen year old boys can lay on me in the tube and complain about how hot I am."  
He actually laughs at that last bit.  
"So, you just pick up any nearby sixteen year old boy and let him lay on you? For God's sakes, man, I actually thought I was a bit special here." He gives a few fake sniffles.  
Winter likes to be jokes with. Winter likes good jokes and giggles and laughter and teasing. He thrives on it. Winter likes to be challenged, Winter likes dumb crushes. Winter likes Louis. Louis likes Winter.  
Maybe Winter likes Fall. 

✡

Louis doesn't know how he feels like he's known Winter forever. He hasn't. He's only just met him. Winter is new to him, winter is icy and different and a bit hard to joke with because Winter has probably the dumbest sense of humor Louis has ever come across. Winter can't make jokes, it's a known fact. Winter isn't for jokes.  
Fall is. Fall can make jokes that make Winter laugh, casting his icy breath upon the orange leaves. He can make Winter double over in laughter and can make him tear up from his jokes.  
(Okay, maybe he hasn't yet, but he totally can, and he knows it.)  
"So what do you want to be when you go to UNI, Louis?"  
Louis groans. Ah, Winter. Always asking what your future plans are only to destroy them with his giant hands.  
"I dunno, maybe being a like.. Writer or something.."  
"A writer. Yeah, I can totally see you doing that. You just seem... Writer-y."  
"Thanks."  
"You're welcome."  
Winter is its own kind. 

✡

"You know, smoking is bad for you."  
Louis is a dragon, letting out puffs of grey smoke through his lips before he takes another drag, feeling his brain loosen and sigh of relief from the exhaustion he's put himself through.  
"Whatever. I can quit anytime I want."  
"Why do you even do it?"  
Fall is smoky. Fall likes to have a whiff of sensuality, the way it feels intimate to have the smoke swirl around it. It connects to leaves, the way he wears orange faded jumpers, it's just fall.  
Winter doesn't like the smoke, even though people picture smoking in the winter the most. They imagine it as a way to keep warm, but Winter scrunches up his nose and sets a little "It's Easy to Quit: 3 Simple Steps You Can Do Right at Home" pamphlet on your seat while you go off to have a wee.  
"Why can't you just shut up for once? God, always talking, you."  
"Funny, that. I'm always talking. You make me laugh."  
"Shut up, Judgey. I can quit now."  
"Sure."  
Louis takes the fag from his mouth, snaps it in half (carefully, but he won't admit it because he's trying to be a badass here), and drops it on the ground.  
"Why do you litter?"

✡

Louis is only sixteen.  
Harry's eighteen.  
"You don't seem only sixteen, you know. You seem older than that. I dunno, I work with some sixteen year olds and they aren't half as-" his eyes slowly rake down Louis' body. He can't find the word, but Louis knows exactly the one he wants to say.  
"As much of a twink as I am?"  
Harry cackles, tossing his curly head back as his floppy fringe slips down his forehead and hangs in the air.  
"That's a good one. You, a twink. I mean.. Excuse me for saying this, but... I mean, look at your body."  
Louis' pretty fit and has curves where they need to be.  
"I mean, I could totally and completely dominate you."  
Winter is lustful when it wants to be. Winter can totally feel the lust in the room and somehow make it so you're lusting over him without even trying. Basically, Winter is a flirt and a tease and he should stop.  
"Whatever."

✡ 

Harry is eating a sandwich.  
It's a turkey sandwich, with lettuce and plastic cheese and mayonnaise and mustard.  
Louis hates mustard.  
"What does that taste like?" He asks Harry, his own hands currently occupied with clutching the sleeves of his jumper.  
"Tastes like crap. Want some?"  
Fall thinks Winter can be incredibly stupid, but in the unfair way where it's cute.  
"No."  
"I mean, I think the person who made this probably put a lot of work into cutting this thing that appears to be cheese.."  
If Niall was here, he'd crack up at that and say, "He said," (pant, pant) "'cut t' cheese'!"

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at louisside if you wanna hit me up


End file.
